


The Wandering

by Shrimpleton (shrimpleton)



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Dragons, Explorative, F/M, Fantastic Racism, Graphic, Internal Conflict, Multipara, Multiple chapters, Nsfw content, Religious Conflict, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Warring, Werewolves, mature themes, plenty of angst, plenty of pain, troubling themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2020-05-19 02:01:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19347283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shrimpleton/pseuds/Shrimpleton
Summary: Be it dragons, draugr, warring people, or werewolves... The nature of a gifted woman is subject to the perils of Skyrim as well as the dangers of human life. To balance one's nature against one's life does not prove easy. A spin on the Dragonborn story and questing with the narrative of one particular mage who did not ask for a single bit of her life. Katia Sableguard, recently graduated of the college of Winterhold and tested against the wills of the Black Dragon, now set out to prove what comes next after a life dedicated to saving the world is entirely necessary.





	1. Riversilt

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for clicking! I hope to put out more of this particular story and drift away from my usual comfort zones. I am always receptive to suggestions, if you have any! Please feel free to leave me comments and constructive criticism. I grow from the feedback left :)
> 
> ** This piece contains mature content that some readers might find troubling. Please read at your own risk. **

The light hadn’t yet died from the reaches of the sky by the time the hunting party had taken their stop for the evening, but a fire was still being built up by Aela. Skeever was the choice meat for the evening, though her stomach hungered for something much wilder than the overgrown rats that inhabited the abandoned shacks around the river. Stiff grass cushioned her hind as Katia took her seat on the edge of the overlook, one knee hiked up to her chest as the other leg dangled out over the ravine. For once, the land seemed quiet. No distant roaring or far off city squabble. It was quiet on the plains, and for that she was thankful. Though, the quiet was not meant to last for long. Behind her, Athis and Njada began to fight over a giant’s toe – as if the party didn’t have enough to go around. Rolling orbs of crystalline blue, Katia shoved a hand in the shallow pocket at her thigh and lobbed dismembered toe at the pair over her shoulder.

“Enough! Can we have but one night?” The irritation was thick, but it wasn’t meant to be hateful. It had been an exceptionally long day for them all, especially with Vilkas’ outburst as they were inside Windhelm. Everyone had been holding it together with very thin strings, and the incessant arguing threatened to snap hers.

“Bah.” Athis spit in her direction, stooping to pick up the toe before he took a spot around the fire.

Casual conversation lifted behind Katia then, but she paid it no mind. She had eyes only for Whiterun that lay ahead. The little town of her birth seemed so distant now. Everything had changed so drastically. Even now, traveling with the fabled Companions, the most surreal experience would be walking back through those gates and looking into the faces of the people she had left years before. How many knew, she wondered idly. How many knew what she was? Something that had slept dormant for twenty years, only to burst forth in a literal fiery blaze. The biggest surprise about her status wasn’t the soul that occupied her vessel; it was the form her body chose to adopt once given the proper stimulus. The hibernating creature had been woken by the chilling thunder that burst forth from Alduin, tearing through her fragile human skin to produce golden scales and ivory talons that rivaled the black drake’s himself. Perhaps that wasn’t even the biggest shock to the monsters that had been living amongst her own people in Whiterun for year. One of those aforementioned monsters had chosen to seat himself next to her on the cliffside, taking a hearty swing from a wineskin.

“’S’beautiful, isn’t it?” Farkas commented, nodding out toward the open plains that encompassed the whole of Whiterun and its surrounding hold.

Katia’s hooded head swiveled his way as she silently took in his noisy display, a shoulder lifting halfheartedly in response. “I suppose so. Gets taken for granted if you’ve looked at it your entire life.”

“Well, right, but you’ve been gone… Four years now? Five? Got to be a little sore on it, don’t you?” An elbow came into her leather clad side.

Shying away from his attempt, Katia rolled her eyes and looked back out over the valley. Her look softened a fraction as she simmered on his words, realizing that he _was_ right. She had missed the simplicity of the farming lands more than anything. Though her mother’s lands were beautiful, the Nords knew the basics of life. This just happened to be part of it. “A bit.”

Farkas chuffed a bit and pushed the wineskin into her hands, whether she would take it or not. His fur lined bracers were absolutely thrashed; covered in gore, muck and shredded to bits. The thought of it put a frown on her lips, but she drew no attention to the status of his garments. Perhaps she would drop a coin purse on his pillow or fund a new set to be made. After all, it was he who saved her from that damned troll in the Sightless Pits.

“That’s a girl.” A heavy hand clapped against her still tender ribs, drawing a cough from the woman. Katia’s bright gaze turned up to glower at Farkas as she wheezed, thrusting the wineskin back in his lap.

“Keep it, dog.” She snapped, fighting the taste of the nearly rancid wine that coated her tongue.

Boisterous laughter cut off Farkas’s reply as their conversation was overheard, nearly sending a drunken Companion to the ground. Though she could not tell which in the dying light, Katia desperately wanted to save her pride. They all seemed to think it hilarious when she poked fun at their nature, though they drew no insult from it. Absolutely maddening for the young magus, and this time was no different. Tossing back her hooded cloak toward the group, Katia shoved up from her spot and dropped over the edge of the ravine, hoping to land _not_ on a slumbering mudcrab. Again. It was embarrassing enough to have their chortling follow her over the edge of the cliff, let alone have them laugh at her for screeching as she had her rear end pinched by the ruthless claws off a pissed off crab.

Thanking the Divines that she didn’t have that shitty luck, Katia stomped off on the soggy riverbed, following it down away from their encampment. If she were to come across wolves or perhaps bandits, her magic would be more than enough to save her. This much she knew. A dragon would be a stretch, but her Thu’um was growing stronger by the day. The only issue with using her voice would be an alert to the party and perhaps the next hamlet over that she was indeed battling a dragon.

Though free from its prison, her hair still was tied back in a tight plait.  Thich and unruly, her curls were hardly ever managed. As her father was a Nord, her hair was very fair and blonde, and her eyes light as the early morning sky. Her features were sharp like the Imperial of her mother – a strange contrast when it came to the Dragonborn. Fighting with the leather thong that kept the end of her hair tied together and folded up, Katia let out a frustrated yell and tossed her hands down, allowing them to slap at the leather that wrapped her thighs. Anger burned in the pit of her stomach like a hot rock. She had done everything she could for those ridiculous Companions! The gloves came off next, tossed to the ground carelessly - despite the fact they had been enchanted and were more costly than half the houses in the lower district of Whiterun. Fingers now freed, Katia scrubbed at her face and tried valiantly to stave off the angry tears.

“Stupid…fucking….dogs!” She snarled to herself, dropping down to the ground with her face still folded into her hands. “All day, I bail them out of trouble. Do they help me? No! We run their ancestral quests, we do their tasks, their jobs, their needs!”

Her voice a yell now, Katia was aware that the echo would likely carry. The magus did not care; what good would it do to brood the entire day’s ride back to Whiterun tomorrow? They would part ways at the gate then, never to speak to one another. At least now they’d know how she really felt.

“You could have at least said something.” Farkas’s quiet voice startled her, sending her head shooting up from its crumpled position.

Red-faced and teary, she bared her teeth in a very strange display for a little human woman with cherubic features. Katia hadn’t heard him trail after her, and her folly cost her desperate peace and quiet. For one that wore such heavy armor, Farkas walked with strangely silent footsteps. “Leave me, Farkas. Don’t begin to act as if you care now.”

Farkas shifted on his feet, but the warrior did not otherwise move. His darkly colored eyes held her own, solemn and deep. It was clear they had been on the road for several days, as he normally kept his face at a close shave but now the hair on his face had grown long and unruly. “I have beastblood. I can’t read minds, Katia. Don’t act as if I’ll know if you say nothing.”

“If I say nothing?” Katia scoffed incredulously, her eyes wide and wild. “I spoke up multiple times. I needed to go to the College of Winterhold. That’s where I wanted to be. Where I needed to be. But instead, I was brandished about the entirety of the land, used for my powers and the innate ability to command dragons. I’m sure those bones will fetch you a pretty price, if not forge you a nice new sword.”

The man fell silent once more, his lips pressing into a hard line. Katia nodded firmly in his direction; she had him there. She _had_ been rather outspoken while they traipsed about the northern border of Skyrim, adamantly demanding she be brought to the magical school. But instead, Katia was drug along with the Companions as they hunted, and even brought down three dragons. Their last had left them near the Barrowden, where she had firmly argued this be the very _last_.  

“I’ll ride with you back up.” After a long silence, Farkas spoke up, his eyes lifting back to hers with a ridiculous doglike loyalty. Katia squinted at him in return, her head lowering in a quick motion as if he had just offered her something stupid.

“A four-day ride, through the snow with just you as company? No.”

“Now you’re being a spiteful bitch.”

“No, the bitch is back at camp, roasting a skeever.”

Farkas growled, taking a step toward the rumpled mage. “Watch your mouth.”

“Or what? You’ll bite me?” Katia lifted her fingers, the soft blue electricity beginning to crackle across her fingertips. “Come on then, let’s have it.”

The steel-clad warrior halted, his features growing glacial. “Katia. Enough. I haven’t threatened you once and you know that.”

Too far pressed to realize her mistake, the blonde magus went on. “Do I not? Because you’re the one who seems to have followed me. You followed the Dragonborn. You know how dangerous that can be, right? People whisper that wherever I go. I’m _dangerous_ to be around. So, keep going, doggy. Keep on.” As she spoke, the sparks grew. Dancing from finger to finger, bolts began to burst forth and illuminate her face, striking the ground around him and spreading the smell of ozone. It wasn’t necessarily the magic that kept people at bay, but her reputation. That fact alone seemed to heat her blood a thousand times hotter as the thought struck her, sending an arcing bolt tangling through the space between them.

It was only when a bolt struck him, sending his eyes wide open, that she realized her mistake.

There would be no pain involved – not with the baby bolts she had been sending out – but the tensions from the day were still painfully raw. Their fight hadn’t done much to settle his nerves either, but Katia hadn’t truly been considering that. Much of the time, Katia forgot that beastblood was volatile – she even tended to forget that most of the Companions were indeed afflicted by it. They all seemed so normal. That is… Until they became eight feet tall and covered in fur, teeth and howled enough to send chills down her spine from leagues away.

The magic was cut off immediately as soon as she saw Farkas’ eyes widen and shaking hands grip chestplate as if he were trying to hold himself together. Katia’s sky blues pleaded with his own dusky panic, her mouth floundering open and shut as she slowly crawled to her feet.

“I... I’m so, so sorry...” She managed, her hands coming up before her. It was a likely defeat, but the woman still valiantly tried to soothe the oncoming storm with mere words.

Farkas shut his eyes, his frame beginning to shake as much as his hands. Before long, he dipped his head and swallowed a gust of air, gulping as if he knew he were about to dive deep into cavern pools. When he looked back up to Katia, Farkas could only mouth a word. Even she didn’t need to hear it to know what it was.

Run.

Katia was naive in many things. Lycanthropy was one of them, but basic instinct to _avoid_ didn’t even seem to stick with her when it came to dealing with the Companions. Having dealt with three individual shifts, though never alone, she knew but one thing: do not engage the beast, for it must kill. Wildly looking around her for an escape, the magus decided to peel backward in an awkward jog. The hunting party would have been better suited to lead Farkas toward, and yet… Katia ran in the opposite direction.

Tearing over the craggy ground, Katia’s long legs seemed to offer her a speed they often held back on. The river led her away from the sounds of the farms toward Whiterun, but she had forgotten about the town that lay at the base of the river before Falkreath’s hold. Aptly named Riverwood, soon the field gave way to trees and the Dragonborn found herself twisting and ducking beneath branches and bramble until she was deep within the heart of the forest… and spilling onto a road that opened onto the gates of the little hamlet.

“No.” She whispered to herself, the word little more than a pant. Katia doubled over, clutching her knees as she gasped for air. “No, no, no. Stendarr, please. No!”

There was little chance the God of Mercy was listening on this occasion as the tearing howl of Farkas was not far behind her trail, and she had exhausted her stamina on the run too much to even attempt to weave a spell that would protect the villagers. Squeezing her eyes shut, Katia whispered a silent prayer before crouching in a bush and beginning to buzz deep purple magic between her hands. If she could not hide the city, she would hide herself. A lot of good that would do, as she was panting harder than the overworked old mares that tilled at the Pelagia farm, but at least she would be out of the beast’s immediate line of sight as it came barreling after her. Coiling her hands tight in fists, Katia held onto the spell for a moment before releasing it around her, letting the air shimmer and hide her away. A blessing of invisibility feebly learned in passing from one of the Jarl’s wizards -which one in particular she did not remember, but Katia would thank each one should she live through the night.

Crickets chirped in harmony as the night crept on. The sound of the guards’ boots on the gravel mingled with the creatures of the night for nearly ten minutes before she heard the werewolf’s crashing pursuit. A hand clapped over her mouth to keep shaking breaths from being heard as she kept her eyes transfixed on the road, watching the flickering torches held by stalwart guards’ pace up and down the path that lead to the gates of Riverwood. They were so close she could almost call out - she could warn them – cry out and tell them to raise their alarms. But what would it get them? This small fishing village? They had but ten guardsmen, and the rest were meager mercenaries. The only thing Katia relied on was the faith that the little fishing village operated on the same schedule as the grander community to the north – when the sun set, the villagers took refuge within their homes, locking out the world of roving brutes and fabled beasts.  

Her attention was recaptured by the very same beast as he came shooting out of the woods like a bolt from a crossbow; almost too fast for her eyes to follow. Farkas was upon a guard in an instant, rending his throat open and bloodying his maw with the lifeblood of the screaming Imperial.

Katia’s hand shook as it pressed tighter across her lips. She was no stranger to carnage, but this was less than Falmer or even Vampire. This was a beast set to kill – this was a monster made for destruction and devouring. And she had no power to overwhelm it, no spells to calm it. Much like any other disaster, Katia found herself unable to look away. Sitting on her heels, the magus soon found the position was highly uncomfortable - but any short motion would disperse her illusion and have the beast upon _her_ in an instant. With a lump in her throat, Katia knew she would let the villagers die than have to kill a Companion. They were of more value, and this was well known within Skyrim.

Biting back the bile, Katia clenched her eyes shut for a brief moment as more guards rushed down to try and swarm Farkas. The gruesome assault was over almost before it had begun. Only a few swipes from his deadly claws had them torn open and bleeding, unable to defend as he literally ate them alive. The bone chilling howl would alert the hunting party of his change, and soon Katia’s help would arrive.

Assuming they could find her in time, of course.

Katia’s eyes opened to peer through her leafy hideout, only to find Farkas hunched over the body of a young mercenary, devouring his innards with the sickening slurp of wet intestine against a squelching maw. It was no worse than the sounds cave bears made when they descended upon their meals, or dragons swooping down to take livestock whole, but it never sat right with Katia. She was regarded as one of the most heroic, to be sure, but she was not the most… unfazed. Muscles locked tightly in position, Katia did exceptionally well holding her position in the foliage she had hidden herself in, despite the burning that had begun to dominate her thighs. The terrified screams from the village combined with the violently ringing alarm bells had begun to mask the sound of Katia’s breathing as it came in louder pants, allowing her to slowly regain composure. She could wait this out, she thought to herself. There would be salvation once Aela and Vilkas arrived. They would know how to deal with Farkas.

The horribly haunting noise of gnashing teeth and tearing flesh continued for some time while Katia crouched and stared on, painfully crouched in a position she would feel for weeks to come. So preoccupied with his meal, there was a chance Katia could slip away undetected. A weak, miniscule chance, but one that would carry her so far as three footsteps beyond the protective reaches of the heavy plant life before the shimmering illusion that protected her was dispelled.

Katia’s heart hammered in her chest as her black leathered arms came into view before her, suddenly frozen in an outstretched position as if she were going to attempt to dive off into more of the dense foliage to the right of the path – directly away from Farkas. He had told her once as they had been traveling that he could smell the blood as it circulated through the vessels of a being. The sound of a frantic heart would be like a calling beacon to the desperation of the beast’s bloodlust. And now, as she stood there feeling the swell of anxious blood fill her cheeks, she knew that he too could sense it. Such was hinted by the lack of gorging sounds behind her, signaling that he had abandoned his meal in lieu of something much more… appealing.

“Farkas…” She managed, her voice little more than a rasp. Katia risked turning her head over her shoulder, daring to meet the gaze of the beast that had turned to look at her as he crouched over his pile of corpses. Speaking to it had been ill advised, as she had been warned before that no sort of kindness nor affection would tame the monster. But in the moment of panic, it had seemed like her best option; reasoning with the man who had been kind to her – that is, if he still resided within the depths of this beast.

The rumbling growl that Farkas returned told the mage that the beast did not share the same mindset that the man did. Lumbering to his feet, the werewolf turned his bloodied chops to the sky and loosed a howl that turned her blood to absolute ice. Katia could not move for a matter of precious seconds, her petrified gaze locked on the monster that easily tore giants limb from limb. A laugh somehow broke the silence first – how silly it seemed that she was afraid of a werewolf when she could stand before a dragon and feel little fear, even in the face of their fiery breath. With the ringing sound of her laughter, the creature began to lumber forward. At first, the pace was slow. The tall grass rippled about the creature’s legs, gore stained claws whispering through the swards in a nonchalant manner. The beast’s hunger had been sated; this was not about feeding. The need to kill was still prevalent, and as she presented in fear, totally unmoving, Katia was an easy target. While on the outside, Katia remained frozen, in her mind the mage was screaming. She knew she needed to run - every fiber of her being begged for it as she knew deep down, she could not bring herself to drag the magic up her limbs and launch a volley at Farkas that would surely spell his demise. Instead, her lips began to frantically move, repeating a phrase over and over. Only as the words came to life did her body thaw, allowing her legs to take stumbling strides forward into the forest once more.

“ _Mul…Qah…Diiv…”_ The hiss was not the shout it needed to be to allow her body to take form. The words of her voice relied on power, and with a throat paralyzed by fear no such power would manifest. The Thu’um she called upon was that of an aspect; her only hope for survival. The aspect would trigger her other self, giving her wings and scales and a fiery breath that would send Farkas with his tail tucked between his legs. Hopefully. “ _Mul…Qah…Diiv…”_

Katia tore at her Nightingale leathers, desperately trying to free her skin as if it would help the Thu’um carry her form to something much greater. Her staggered breathing blocked out all other sounds around her, and the mage found herself caring very little for the shocked looks of the wolves she passed as she tossed her chest piece to the ground. Finally, the ancient magic tingled across her skin. Not bothering to slow her gait, Katia fought with her belts, dropping the sword and daggers, the coin purses and supply pouches. Her pants would be more difficult to fight off, and with no real idea of the beast’s proximity in relation to hers, it was not wise for her to stop. But the mage did anyway, fighting the pants down her long thighs till they hit her knee-high boots.

_“Mul…Qah…Diiv…”_ Spoken in earnest now, the Dragonborn’s skin took on a golden sheen. Katia was so close to freedom, so close to saving her own hide and protecting Farkas from the dangers of her magic. She would pay for it dearly in the morning, that much was sure. But now, all that mattered was her escape. Fingers normally so nimble struggled a good deal with her pants before finally they seemed to kick off around her boots, leaving her near bare in the sparse edge of the woods. Her cry of victory was cut off with an airy huff as a heavy presence crashed into her from behind, effectively ending the ancient powers that worked to change her form.

Taking her down over the bank, Katia’s face pressed down into soft, cool mud beside the river as the stank of a murderous werewolf invaded her nostrils. The heavy snarling buzzed her skull as Farkas’ jaw pressed against her head, wet nose skimming against the tight braid at the back of her head as if a secret would be unveiled if he were to loosen it. The white gold of her hair would surely be stained by the crimson blood that marked his mouth, but she dared not scream about it. There was little Katia could do in the given moment, as she found her face directly down in the mud as he surveyed the back of her body. Only when his snout retreated down her neck did she dare to twist her head, gasping in fresh air and blinking away the sandy mud that had blackened her vision. Night had fallen in Skyrim now, and while not much of anything could be seen the inky darkness of the night was far better than the grainy pressure of the bank.

The darkened muzzle continued to drag down her naked skin, snuffling along the crackling flesh that still reeked of power passed down to her from the dragons themselves. Stiff palms pressed flat into the muddy earth beneath her, bracing for an assault that had not yet happened. She expected teeth, but they had not yet come. Claws to rend her flesh, but all she felt was the wetness of old blood and the drool of an interested werewolf. In the back of her mind, Katia could hear the enraged voices of her teachers shouting at her. _You are Dragonborn! Not a helpless little girl! Fight back!_

The muscles in her back twanged as an old wound flared up; that of Esbern’s heavy blade smacking across her armor, sending her to a bed for three days to heal a bruise that her restoration magic could only barely mend. Katia let out a whimpering breath and tried to edge forward, her knees digging into the soft peat to propel her ever so slightly.

The motion was immediately halted by Farkas’s heavy claws coming down between her shoulder blades, shoving her back into the ground. A snarling irritation left his snout as he shifted behind her more, his intentions still blind to the freaked mage. With his exploratory snuffling earlier, her hair had come loose from the thong that had kept it from becoming a wild mane. Now, in all its curled regalia, Katia’s view was obstructed as she tossed a desperate look over her shoulder the sudden warmth that covered her body. Farkas had taken position behind her, his arm coming to rest beside her ribs as the other looped around her middle and lifted her hips up sharply. A ragged dispute tore from her throat as Katia understood his intentions, and with that moment of clarity she was possessed with the need to fight him off. Her fingers flared to life with the familiar magics, hands twisting back to reach for something, _anything_ , that felt like flesh she could grip onto and reject this advance. His furry forearm was found quickly, and pure lightning was let loose from her fingers, shot straight into the beast behind her. Immune to her own spells, the conduction from his touch on her offered her precious few moments to scramble to her feet and take to the waters.

_You are Dragonborn! Fight back!_

The angry roar wasn’t far behind her as she splashed into the water, arm over arm hauling herself upstream, back toward the encampment. Perhaps a strong warrior, Skyrim’s hero, and a dragon aspect, but she was no expert on lycanthropy. Farkas was a strong swimmer, and his stamina increased form was testament to this. In a matter of moments, he was upon her. The smell of wet dog in the air, the burbling rush of the water in her ears, and the weightless feeling of icy water around her, Katia was scrambling to come up with a way to get herself out of this situation. The heavy pant of Farkas’ breath became closer still as the opposite bank approached her, soft silt sinking between her bare toes with just enough jet to force her body upward onto the shore. Katia was not quick enough to move; the moment she had taken to her feet, she had been knocked back down to the ground with the crushing weight of a sopping werewolf pressing against her back. This time, he was far more obstinate in his actions. Unyielding claws pressed her shoulders to the ground as the other set came up to yank her hips in an upward position – perfectly aligned so that her spine angled upward to meet up with the warm convex of his groin.

Katia had previously asked about the differences in their anatomy, only to be met with laughter of course, but now it seemed she was given a direct lesson. If not for the pitch black and the ruthless pressure that quelled her squirming, the mage could have found this informative. Sliding out across the river slickened crevice between her legs, Katia felt the distinctive feeling of a semi flaccid phallic shape seeking out a refuge. Farkas’s grunts came softer now as his concentration peaked, the beast sated in hunger and blood – now seeking conquest in other forms. Katia had known men before; the routine was something she expected. He would give himself satisfaction by engorging his flesh with the tender feeling of her womanly parts, and then he would plunge into her. But the beast’s actions took her by surprise as soon as the tip of the pointed lupine member found entry. The frantic mage had held herself deadly still, her own breath coming in irregular intervals as she strained to hear the hunting party storming through the forest on the other side of the river. When they drew close enough, she had planned to yell out for them. But Farkas’ surprising action took her yell too soon, as he sought out her tight hole she shrieked out, only to have her face buried back in the silty bank and used to the werewolf’s pleasure.

Upon entry, his foreign member had been small and soft, hardly anything of note other than rough as he sought out her confines. But the faster he began to thrust himself in and out of her, the larger he began to swell – both in girth and length. Katia’s chest flailed as air failed her, her cheeks bulging as she struggled not to open her mouth and take in a mouthful of dirt a she was pounded down by the massive brute behind her. A natural defense, she had tried to buck him off. But her body was different than her mind, and to keep from tearing and ending a bloody mess, her walls had loosened around him and the slick juices flowed as Farkas plowed her like a bitch in heat.

The ringing in her ears stopped suddenly as air filled her lungs, heavy pressure now missing from the back of her head. Farkas’ shift allowed her to turn her head and gulp in the humid air and restore some parts of her frazzled mind. Katia croaked out a plea, but the words failed her partway out her throat. The resulting noise was a pitiful whimper. Farkas’ successive growl set anger in Katia’s stomach. He thought he ruled her now, didn’t he? She’d kill him for this, as soon as they reached Whiterun and Kodlak and Vignar. Her fury would have no barriers in the Underhold, and he would face her wrath before his so-called leaders. Farkas’s thrusting remained steady for a short time, but for the Dragonborn, it seemed an eternity. His lupine whine and heavy lean signaled his finish, but before Katia could angrily drag herself from beneath him, a horrid feeling began to fill her. The tightness between her legs became uncomfortable, causing her to hiss in pain and eventually, she let out a yelp of true pain. A knot had swollen inside of her, keeping the beast locked tight with her. Katia felt his furry orbs flex as he emptied hot spunk into her womb, and no matter her thrashing, he did not seem to yield even an inch. Kept bent at an angle, there was little she could do but let the anger broil, her muddied face flaring with heat as rage claimed her. Farkas had leaned over her form, his heavy head leaning against the small of her back while he stewed in the aftermath of the brutal claiming. In truth, brutality was the least of her issues. Aside from a few claw marks against her bruised ribs and the mud and gore stains, she had gotten off easily compared to the guardsmen in Riverwood Farkas had descended upon.

Relief was not easily found in her mind, however. Katia lifted her head up a fraction, the motion straining her neck as she gazed across the river. The burning anger now manifesting in hot tears that stung the back of her eyes, Katia muffled a sob as the torches of the companions finally breached the tree line. Their view would surely be something appalling, given a massive creature had now found itself bent over the lanky woman; her proud hair stained in mud and blood, with the fury of dragons burned into her visage. From this distance, Katia could not make out their features. A thought in the back of her mind told her this was for the best, as she would not want their pity. Shame would fill her in the morning surely, but now she only wanted freedom. Whimpering in pain, the normally stoic magus shifted her hips testingly beneath the beast. Finding there was far more give than before, Katia jerked forward with another pained cry, an audible pop filling the small area as his member was pulled free from her slit. Hot seed poured out of her at an alarming rate, coating her thighs and the soft thatch of white curls that adorned her front.

Taking advantage of his startled reaction, Katia drew herself upward in full height, hands extending upward before her as she shouted with the full might of her Thu’um to bring forth salvation. And this time, the magus was uninterrupted by panic or trembling fear. As the tingling change tore through her body, spectral wings carrying her high above the battle below, the twang of silver arrows shooting through the air was heard below her. Now, Katia would rest. She would lick her wounds in privacy and seek solace from the only one she knew who would never judge her - Paarthurnax, the Old One.


	2. Father's Wisdom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if you see any incongruities! I did change a few things, and I would hate for there to be confusion. Happy reading, and as always, please leave me a comment.

When morning came, Katia found herself reluctant to leave High Hrothgar. Her frantic escape upward to the sanctuary would be questioned by those down below – unheard of that Dovahkiin were able to call on the Thu’um to use a dragon’s escape. Cowered down in the crook of two rocky outcrops, Katia remained on her side as she stared at a flickering flame, far from the base of the altar that had once seen her true form realized fully. The stench of last night’s activity clung to her skin, almost tangible as a cloud of darkness and despair. Rather, her mood reflected the latter, while the dark tint to her sunkissed skin suggested that she had better find a bath soon – or reek of river silt and gore. Unblinking, Katia found herself watching the flickers of the fire lick upward into the pale morning light. No warmth had found her core, but she had yet to shiver like she had on the first night of her ascent up the mountainside.

“You brood like a distressed hatchling.” The rumbling observation had caught the magus off guard, forcing a blink to interrupt the otherworldly stare. Katia only grunted, pulling tighter on the frayed edges of the bedroll Paarthurnax managed to offer her from an old chest abandoned by previous adventurers. The Old One rumbled deep within his chest again, reflecting a sound not too far from a laugh. “You must get up, Dovahkiin. This is not befitting of you.”

Katia wormed on the ground more, struggling to pull long legs up under the edge of the tattered sheet. “I do not wish to rejoin them.”

“And why not?” Paarthurnax’s reply was instant, just as they always seemed to be. He claimed it would force introspection, and yet, Katia only seemed to find his persistence annoying. Wise beyond all life he might be, but the Old One had a knack for getting under her skin.

“Because.” Katia continued her squirming, the rocky scrabbling produced nearly overtaking her meek mutter.

Paarthurnax exhaled through his nostrils swiftly, but for once he did not comment. With an avalanche of snowy pebbles, the massive dragon maneuvered himself down off his perch, snaking across the altar to peer at her closer. Katia had known the Old One for some time now, but there was nothing that stopped the tingling feeling of fear as the snout of a massive dragon appeared within arm’s reach.

“You make excuses for yourself, Dovahkiin.” Knowingly, the dragon blinked one great eye lazily. Katia refused to meet his stare, choosing instead to watch her fire dance.

“I don’t.” Like a child, the fabled hero of Skyrim tucked her face beneath the blanket and glowered down at her rag swathed body.

One huff from the dragon’s mighty nose, and her fire was extinguished. Only burning coals remained to entertain the shamed blonde as she poked her head back out, an exclamation not far off her lips.

“Paarthurnax! I do not share your scales!” Katia pressed up off the ground with one elbow, her normally ringlet curls now matted to one side of her head. Upon her face, an expression of mounting aggression surfaced. “Do not try to kill me!”

“If I wanted you dead, Dovahkiin, you would have been.” The scaled beast replied, his claws scraping against the ancient stones as he pulled himself further forward. “Instead, I offer you shelter, rest. You will return to your party before they reach Whiterun.”

It wasn’t a suggestion, but a command. Katia narrowed her glacial eyes in defiance, fingers curling tightly around the blanket at her chest. There had been some… Traveling clothes in the chests, but none had fit, and all seemed to sport massive holes in unfortunate places. This was no attire to rejoin a band of Companions who all shared the same sense of humor – at her expense.

“I will not.” Katia fired back, her knuckles white in a tight clench.

“I don’t think I offered you a choice, little one.” Paarthurnax lifted his horned head high above her, swinging it to the side as he surveyed the territory far beneath the peaks. “They wait for you. You are no cowardly hatchling. You are Dovahkiin. Now you must act like it.”

At the mention of her nature, Katia’s cheeks burned with color. A combination of shame and embarrassment had begun to roll in her stomach, but she had neglected to share the sordid details of the prior night’s nightmare. This was not the first time Paarthurnax had offered her council and shelter after a traumatic event, and the Old One did not question her ever. A small grace that Katia had been longing for ever since she had set out with very nosy Companions.

“I… I can’t.” Rather, she didn’t -want- to. Katia dropped her angry glare to the ground, free hand now shoving small pointed stones into a symbol for the Divines. Protection, though she did not know why she asked for it. “You wouldn’t understand. You are a dragon. I am… not.”

Paarthurnax had been spinning in a tight circle about the altar’s spire, coiling his great body about the stones as if he were but a housecat. As he settled his head down onto his forelimbs, the dragon rumbled again in amusement. “You are Dovahkiin. You are more dragon than you are human.”

“Yes.” Katia quietly agreed, her frustration bubbling over into the statement. An icy mountain draft kicked up through the air, sending what little of her free white-gold hair into a tussle about her face. She did not reach up to part it from her features, inwardly grateful for the barrier it had provided against the dragon’s prying eyes.

While they were not known for their comprehension of human emotions, Paarthurnax was no fool. He had been around humans for far too long to be ignorant of their constantly shifting emotion. Katia desired herself to be cool and stoic, but in this moment, the Old One was revealed a side he had not often seen. From the sag of her shoulders to the smell she reeked of, something had to be amiss. A single claw lifted from the ground, angling upward to dig under the edge of a loose scale at his chin.

“I do not claim to know much, Dovahkiin.” The great lizard began, his voice as commanding as the howling gale itself. “But I know that you have survived this much. Whatever it is you face will fall.”

Katia had since thrown the blanket around her shoulders, and as she was spoken to, the frayed edges found themselves picked at by anxious fingers. “And if it was I who fell, Paarthurnax? What then?”

Paarthurnax paused in his preening, turning a golden eye her way as though to take in whatever bodily damage she had sustained. There had been blood on her – but it reeked of human. Not of her own. “You are not harmed. You will try again.”

The magus only scowled more, furious with herself that she would think a dragon would be the one to consult on this matter. The bush beating ended here, although she knew no relief would come from admitting it. “I don’t want to be pinned beneath that Oblivion cursed dog again, Paarthurnax.  That is not something I would like to try again. I can’t go back to them after… After that.”

The stench of animal was confirmed for him then, though Paarthurnax did not show his surprise. Dragons rarely did – and this matter seemed rather trivial. “The dog bested you then? I assume we speak of those beastblood you travel with.” Not waiting for confirmation, Paarthurnax continued. “It would seem to me that you are whole, and he is alive. You then held out on him. Is it something you find shame in to have not released him from the curse?”

It seemed equally unsurprising that the Old One moved on past the topic of Farkas’ brutal conquest. He would not understand this, and no matter how hard Katia tried to convey her point, hers would be lost in translation. The dirtied woman began slowly massaging her temples with one hand, the other tied firmly to the blankets at her front. “It is the fact the others saw it. They know what he has done. I am not feared for my magic, nor my ability with them. They do not fear the Thu’um, and they only show me respect when it is used. Any other time… I have only confirmed for them what they know.”

“That you are weak?” Paarthurnax interjected, his growl shaking the stone he rested upon. “That you are but a human woman? You know you are more, Dovahkiin. You let your pride topple you. Not the beastblood.”

It wasn’t untrue. While there was more to it for -her- than just pride, Farkas had acted by nature. She had denied hers for his life. In return… She had been pressed into the mud and taken like a bitch. “Julianos, help me.” Katia muttered, climbing to her feet. With the prayer uttered for logic to aid her in the coming arguments, the Dovahkiin shambled out from under her alcove and stood in the frigid wind to face her teacher. A shake of her head was offered, no other words, and then she dropped the blanket to make for the cliff’s edge. From behind her, Paarthurnax rumbled another laugh and coiled himself into a tight ball, his draconic language muttered too softly for her to catch it.

Standing at the edge of a cliff with the intention to dive never did come any more easily than the time before. Katia rubbed her thinly covered arms briskly, staring out at the rolling tundra that spanned the entire stretch of valley from Falkreath to Solitude. The mills of Whiterun were discernable from this distance, their cheerful plumes of smoke extending high into the sky as daily grain was ground. The sight of the farmland drew a smile to her face, and Katia embraced the thought of her father’s warm hearth before tilting her body forward off the ledge. The balls of her feet rolled delicately off the rocky surface, and air took her body with such speed that Katia was certain her borrowed shirt tore more.

“ _MulQahDiiv!”_ The rushed yell was torn from her mouth with every syllable uttered, lost to the wind before they could become audible. But the ancient magic in her blood had heard, and this time, it obeyed as she wished it to. A modicum of time flashed by as the phantom form of a great golden drake engulfed her own, carrying her safely to the base of the mountain roads well before any travelers would take notice. Katia never grew tired of the exhilaration that took her body hostage; such joy was unprecedented in her life. Only when the wings she knew resided within her could be -free- did she feel truly at peace with herself and the land. The moment she was brought to land, Katia stretched her arms up to the cloudy white sky and cried out again in that same ancient tongue, thanking the Divines for their gift.

+++

Katia was allowed nearly two hours of silence and rumination before the band of Companions passed through the worn old pass. Having used her time to bathe in the icy river, bind back unruly curls, and ultimately conjure small torrents of lightning from pent up anger, by the time Aela had taken sight of her, Katia was calm. The stocky female Companion abandoned the rest of the traveling team, urging her horse up the road to the place where Katia had staked out as her own. The harsh, yellowed grass she sat in did not at all agree with her torn, ragged clothing, and yet the magus found herself a comfortable position amidst it’s craggly embrace. Aela did not bother to halt the stallion she called Yngi, instead choosing to leap from his back and quickly race to the abandoned woman’s side.

“Dovahkiin!” Aela’s tenor called out loudly as she wrapped her arms around the leaner Katia. “I – we – feared the worst.”

Katia accepted the brief hug before gently pushing back, her stoic features back to what they once were. “I am fine, Aela. I was promised an escort back. Let us not delay any longer.”

Aela seemed to deflate at the statement, but there was none of her usual pushing. The female Companion nodded once, stepping back to signal to the rest of them to hurry forth. Athis and Njada had held twin expressions of shock at her untouched appearance, but there was nothing about them that read pity. Not yet, at least. Vilkas sat near the end of the small caravan, his hands tight around the saddle before him. At his side, his brother rode with his head down, not bothering to look at any who barked at him in short jeers or rapid commands. It was apt that the best fighters of the group assumed a position near the rear, but Katia was no fool; they were at the back because Farkas had proved a shame and a danger, and the only to combat his nature head on was that of his older brother, Vilkas. That was one story Katia did recall from the long nights in the Underhold, each hour spent recalling a moment where brother battled brother, or even sister. Vilkas was Farkas’ equal; and the next time she needed to deal with one alone, the other would -surely- be present.

“So.” Athis commented from atop his roan steed, pacing the mare back and forth as he appraised Katia’s condition. “I take it tha’ you found some shelter after the attack?”

In the process of inspecting her sweet little pack mare, Katia did not immediately answer. Her hands traced down the sorrel’s legs, testing for any sort of weaknesses as she was -certain- the others did not care for the little mare like she did. Once finished, Katia began rifling through side packs in search of her leathers. “I did.”

“And… you’re alrigh’, then?”

“I am.”

Aela hurried over to her side, a bundle of black in her offered hands. Thrusting them forward toward the long legged mage, Katia abandoned her search promptly and snatched them away. Nightingale leather was rare, and for it to be handled by another had made her nervous. Tossing it by the wayside had been for life preservation means, only. Never again would she abandon her precious armor. Tracing the stitching on the hood that lay folded atop all the heavy gear, Katia pressed her lips in a thin line and finally glanced back to Farkas. His arm was pinned up with a trail fashioned sling, his face black and blue with bruises.

Good.

“Everyone is alright?” Katia asked, the seething attitude in her tone completely obliterating any intention of kindness. “No one else was hurt?”

Aela rubbed the back of her neck, following Katia’s gaze. “Yes. We are all alright. Only minor scrapes. This is not our… Our first time handling a situation.”

“Surely.” Katia crisply agreed, her head nodding along in the same manner. The armor was brought up to her chest then, protecting her body from any invasive glances shot from Athis and Njada. Her appearance was… rough, to say the least. “I’m going to change in the brush over there.”

All too eager, Aela bobbed her short dark hair and yanked her eyes off of Farkas. “I will accompany you. Just to keep you safe.”

“It’s really not… Okay.” Katia resigned with a sigh, deciding it better not to fight here on the road. They were so close to never seeing one another again that she couldn’t risk giving them more reason to track her down. The process took longer than expected, as Katia was sure to go over every singe bit of her highly coveted gear. There was no damage – save the inner stitching of one glove – and once adorned in her black brocade, the magus felt much more herself. It was unusual for a caster to choose heavier gear, but Katia had never felt at home in those homespun robes, protected only by a flimsy enchantment. Solid leather blessed by a Divine herself… That was her choice of attire.

Hood back and cape tucked up on a shoulder, Katia kept the dramatics to a minimum as she and Aela slowly returned to the party. They had pulled off the main road, allowing the horses to nibble at the short tundra grass while taking a bit of a rest. With the sun still high in the sky, Katia knew their journey was far from over. Back at the little mare’s side, Katia ignored their idle chatter as she dug through the bags, seeking not only her short blade, but also an amulet of Talos. Widely outlawed because of her mother’s people and the treaty concocted by the Empire, Katia still carried the stone carving for luck and the blessing she knew it brought her. Wearing it would be a risk anywhere but Whiterun, where many of the Nordic people still believed in The One. Pressing her lips to the surface of the mottled stone, Katia relinquished it back into her pack and then began the slow process of tightening straps and mounting her bored little horse.

Whiterun was, if anything, homely. There was not much to set the little farmstead apart from major cities, but offered up against any other and Katia would always choose Whiterun. The horses had been stabled with the hand below the twirling walk up crumbling stones that prefaced the city’s main drag. While she would miss the stalwart little pony, Katia could hardly wait to be free of the infernal saddle the moment plumes of smoke from the bubbling village appeared on the horizon. Without waiting on the Oblivion damned Companions, Katia had taken off on foot, peeling up the road ahead of any others as she made for home.

The wood and iron-wrought gates parted with a shout from above in the guard’s tower as the blonde came within view. Katia smiled gratefully at the guards posted behind the gate, her nearly straight teeth revealed between thin, windchapped lips. It no longer mattered what _they_ had to say. No worries plagued her. Not as the sight of her father, bent over an anvil, sent happiness slamming through her veins harder than the buffeted air from dragon’s wings.

“Papa!” Katia called out, breaking into a sprint to clear the distance from moat to packed town roads. “Papa!”

Orthen Sableguard was a stout man from head to toe. Many compared him to the base of an old tree – thick in every regard, with skin bronzed and weathered from days out in the elements. The top of his head had balded now, leaving a ring of faded hair neatly combed out over what little of his scalp he could cover. At the sound of his only daughter’s voice, Orthen nearly dropped the hammer in his hands as he whipped around with a great smile blooming under his thick mustache.

“C’mere, girl!” He heartily returned, running a blackened hand down the front of his smock. Katia paid very little care to the state of the blacksmith’s clothing, thrusting herself into his open arms with reckless abandon. Since she had come to live with him as a girl, Katia never tired of her father’s strong embraces. It was only a _bit_ uncomfortable, as her girlhood height had fled her in exchange for gangly height and disproportionate legs. Laughing as a hand combed difficulty through her wild mane, Orthen closed his eyes continued on with boisterous volume. “Ohhh, now. I knew you’d come back. Bit of a warning next time, huh? Could have had supper on for you!”

Katia peeled herself off the short, portly man and dropped a kiss to the top of his head. A smile burned her cheeks, but it was nothing short of welcome. This slice of happiness was desperately needed. “Do your work. I will start dinner. Anything you have will be better than roasted skeever.” Casting a glance over her shoulder, the magus’ lips dropped from their smile. On her heels, the rest of her traveling party had trudged up the hill, entering their town with a curious gaze glued to her back. Rudely turning away as Aela offered a small waved, Katia offered up one last soft smile and backed slowly away. “We have much to talk about, papa. I won’t go anywhere.”

A parting returned from the giddy older man, and then Katia was off in the opposite direction of her father’s home. Walking up the street would force her to walk along with the party, and there was little else Katia could think worse in that moment. Casting her nose up, the haughty mage stomped down toward the eastern border of the town, keen to find refuge from the Companion’s stung looks. Around her, life seemed to continue with no notice of the animosity brewing at the gate. Both guards had their attention cast elsewhere, recounting the tale of a wayward thief that dared steal from one’s garden. Children pushed past her legs, screaming with excitement as their game of tag reached a climax. Even the stray dogs that inhabited the district’s alley seemed unbothered by the electric tension mounding overhead. But Katia was not immune, and she knew the others could sense it well. Sneering as she passed, Katia made a grab for her hood, yanking it up over the mess of a plait that bound all curls back.

“Katia?” The testing female voice was full of uncertainty. Njada did not often speak to her, as there was no lost love between the two females. Katia had made it clear from the first day that she did not appreciate her place among the party, despite any sort of forced interaction from the other members. Njada resented it deeply. Now, the dark-haired Companion hesitantly looked on down the road at the magus, her features wholly unreadable. Katia had frozen mid step, the musculature of her back tensing equally hard.

“What is it? I need to go fetch things for my father.”

In the pause that followed, enough words unspoken carried across the subliminal meaning: they wanted her to follow them back. To report in with Kodlak Whitemane and confirm everything they would soon be telling him. Katia would have nothing of it – she didn’t owe them a thing after what had happened. Determined to force Njada to continue pressing her, Katia let the silence hang heavily. But when a voice arose, it was not that of the surly female’s – it was Farkas.

“She knows where we will be. Let’s get on.”

Surprise flooded Katia at the audacity of the male to speak in her presence. How _dare_ he? No apology, but he could excuse himself at will? The storm began swelling in her chest, hot jolts of burning ichor arcing through her veins. She could strike them all down now – it wouldn’t cost her but a day’s bedrest. Yet before the magus could act on her temper, the shuffling of heavy boots scrabbling against the loosely packed dirt alerted her to their departure. Gritting her teeth together with a squeak so loud she was certain the nearby occupants could hear it, Katia pulled away from her position on the street to brood in silence.

+++

The fire crackled cheerfully at her feet as the long, lean blonde reclined in the weathered old chair. A stew had bubbled over the stones, filling the home with a scent not unlike that of boiled leather, but it wasn’t pointed out by either of the occupants. Katia held the bowl against her chest tightly, idly rolling her wooden spoon against the harsh grain that made up the surface of the bowl itself as she glanced about the house. Even in the years she had been gone, the house had not changed much. At each end of the great room, a decorative rug hung proudly: Argonian and Redguard respectively, and each a gift from her late mother. Above the door, a pair of decorative horns hung, their ends adorned with raven feathers. Sheltered in the far corner behind them, a single room with a single bed, and beside the door a ladder to climb up into the meager loft where Katia had spent her days as a child. While mostly bland and undecorated, Katia was reminded of her father in everything: the pans lopsided on the wall by the fire, the table with one short leg, and of course, the dragonbone carvings strung up on little strings over by the single window at the rear of the house. A comfortable environment, and one that filled her immensely with love.

Orthen nudged a log into the fire with the tip of his boot, sending sparks up from the coals in a fiery little dance. Breaking the calm silence with a soft belch, the blacksmith leaned over to pat his daughter’s knee and smile warmly. “We’ve got all night. What’s eating you?”

The scraping kept up, acting as an easy distraction against the battering feelings that struck her at her father’s comment. Katia’s lips lifted in a half smile in addition to a tiny shrug as she tried to push off the conversation. The leftover stew in the hollowed bottom of the bowl was raised up with the spoon, then left to rain down the steep sides again. “Just tired, pa. There really is nothing that bothers me.”

“And I am as clean as a whistle at the end of the day.” Orthen replied, holding up a filth stained hand with a quick smile on his face. “I have known you since you were small. Your lies are weak. Let’s try again, Katia. Tell me what is on your mind.”

Katia shifted uncomfortably under the soft brown eyes of her father’s intrusive stare, but there was no use withholding. He had been the only one there for her, even after she had turned up on his doorstep nearly two decades past with a letter of inheritance. Orthen had always been there for Katia, and never seemed to flinch at her revelations.

“If I told you that something bad had happened to me, what is it that you would say?” Katia questioned, abandoning the bowl’s edge in favor of a look cast through a sheet of curls aimed at her father. “If I had failed?”

“Then I would say you are no less.” The comment came after quiet deliberation, as Orthen was certain this was not the extent of what was to be said. Leaning forward over his round belly, both hands were clasped together between solid knees.

The magus dipped her head again, now looking out into the smoldering embers at the base of the fire. “If I told you it was a man who had wronged me? Who had hurt me?”

Katia didn’t need to look over to see Orthen’s immediate displeasure. The chair beneath him creaked loudly as he sat up, abruptly attentive to whatever she had to say. A father’s instinct was still strong, just as it had been when she was a young girl pushed over in a fruit stand. “Who? Who, Katia? What did he do to you?”

“He took me.”

The admission was quiet, yet in the near emptiness of the main room masked only by the sound of living fire, it seemed to echo.

“He raped you?” Orthen’s anger bit through the words like a rabid dog held taut at the end of a chain, but the man did not continue to press threats.

Katia blanched at the words, although she knew them to be true. Clenching her crystalline blues closed, she nodded to affirm what it was her father wanted to know. The mere action of bobbing her head up and down seemed to cast a weight on the end of her throat, the heavy pain leeching deep within her.

“I… I did not stop him. I could not.”

The explosion was instant as Orthen jolted up from his chair, sending the frail wood skittering on its back across the room. With an angry exclamation, Orthen tossed his hands skyward and shouted out toward the Divines. “Eight protect her!”

“Papa,” Katia continued, her meager status only worsened by the thread of guilt that had begun weaving through her gut. “I _let_ him. I could have killed him with only… With only one bolt. I didn’t stop him. He was rabid, the beastblood fueling his ra-,”

“ _Beastblood_?” Orthen spat, turning to look at his daughter. The look that had burned a furious rage in his eyes now turned with confusion, as if the rumored beastblood did not make sense. Katia could say nothing in reply; having outed the Companion’s biggest secret in change for her own, there would be nothing but shame to come. As the younger dipped her head further, eager to escape through any means possible, Orthen continued on his rampage. “Katia. Katia! Answer me! Do we have one afflicted by beastblood in the city?”

“No.” Katia answered, trying to ease her guilt on the idea that her answer _was_ truth. There was not one, but many. Roughly, her hands were thrust across her weary features, rubbing against the feelings of anguish that toiled in her gut. “It was merely a fight with one on the road. He must have been so taken with the rage and… and the rush that it happened so quickly. I could not bring myself to kill a Companion.”

The explanation worked to appease the old man, if only slightly. It seemed he doubted her, but Orthen had lived a life of simplicity; this challenge would topple everything he knew. Everything the Nords of this land knew. The portly man slunk to the back of the house with a weary gait, stooping to return his chair back to the proper standing. After a moment of running his hands along the curved backrest, Orthen took his seat, facing away from his daughter. It was not his shame to bear, but he felt it as strongly as one would feel the frigid waters after plunging into the unforgiving sea. Taking his own face between calloused palms, Orthen released a heavy sigh and struggled inwardly with what peace he could offer his daughter.

“Do you wish to bring this to the Jarl?” His words were earnest, strong. Orthen would do anything to support his daughter, even if it meant bringing an outrageous claim before the Jarl. To accuse an honored Companion…

“No, papa.” Katia answered softly, her hands opening with the soft pale light of a blessing. The only she knew how to use, as restoration magic had never been her forte. A blessing of calm – of soothing. Something to squelch her father’s anger before it surmounted to something more than controllable. She had been trying to channel the magic ever since the moment of his outburst, but it was ill received. “I will go to the temple tomorrow. I will find healing. Do not worry."

Orthen’s reply was lost to mumbling, the words only half formed, and half meant. His anger had been tamed, the fatherly beast within him sent to slumber. While there was little he could _really_ do to retaliate against a legendary hero such as a Companion, Orthen would have found pride in reaching Sovngarde to defend his daughter’s honor. The silence that followed was heavy and thick, emotions unreleased and far from comprehension lingered about them both. As the coals on the fire turned from cherry read to a glowing amber, Katia rose from her chair to retire upstairs in the small nook she had missed so dearly. Bowl and spoon were carefully laid against the hearth’s stones, and a delicate kiss was pressed down upon the man’s balding spot. Katia offered no parting for the night as she climbed up the old ladder, leaving only the creak of her boots against protesting rungs in her wake. The slanted walls of her rooftop hideaway no longer supported her full height, so Katia made her way across the room in a hunched crawl. Having stripped away tight leather in exchange for cloth bedclothes, the downy embrace of her bed welcomed every curve of her lanky form. Carried off on the sight of scintillating starlight through the edges of broken boards, sleep was quick to take her weary mind.


	3. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So sorry this has taken me so long. This chapter is more fluff, but I have more on the way. Thanks for being patient, and leave me kudos if you're enjoying it so far ^.^

Katia’s time in Whiterun was limited. While the threat of the World-Eater had been vanquished, with no small celebration there to be had, her presence had been requested in all of the holds in Skyrim. Couriers seemed to find her with ease, no matter what sort of craft she used to evade them. The latest on her docket came from the northern reaches of Skyrim – Solitude. The Imperial Legion had requested her aid in dealing with the rising threat of the Nords, led by none other than Ulfric Stormcloak. Katia had no intention of helping, but the request would not go unnoticed. Her split loyalties kept guilt riddled in her gut for even entertaining the request, but Katia was bound by law to answer the call.

Perhaps not law, but a last lingering loyalty to her mother’s people.

The morning was filled with a cheerful burble of voices, each overlapping the next as hasty vendors called out for their goods to be peddled and arguing customers complained about the gouging prices. Orthen had left for work well before Katia had even stirred from her bed, but a small vase of fresh mountain flowers was left for the slumbering woman. As if she were anything but the famed Dragonborn, Katia’s father treated her no less than the sweet child he knew her to be. Upon rising, Katia dressed painstakingly under the arching beams of the roof, splashed her face with icy water from last night’s basin, and descended the rickety ladder to the chilled main room. While wrapped in the tight leathers, the sting of the ripping wind wasn’t entirely felt, but there was no mistaking it as it tore through the main room of the house, taking no prisoners in its icy embrace.

A small smile graced the woman’s lips. The only place she desired the icy breeze was the peaks of Solitude, and Divines willing, she’d feel it by the day’s end. The pack she had brought with her remained in the same heap by the door as where she had left it the night prior. Crumpled old leather, but it did the job she asked of it, and it did it damn well. Katia bent to pick the bag off the ground, her fingers sliding across the used leather with a nostalgic grasp. Lingering in the worn grove by the lid of the satchel, Katia sucked in a deep breath and cast a wanting gaze about the small shack.

“Leaving so soon?” Orthen’s soft timbre rolled from the doorway. The fat little Nord observed his daughter with a look no less than adoration, his grimy hands wiping a black streak to the apron at his chest. “You’ve only just gotten home.”

Katia’s features grew soft as she crossed the room. “I will not be gone long this time. There is a war coming, Papa. I will not be a part of it, but they have asked my counsel.”

“And what does a girl of mine know of war?” Orthen’s voice was a scoff, but the understanding behind it heard well enough. In the silence marred only by whistling wind, Orthen extended his arms out to Katia as if she were small again, ready to welcome the embrace of her round and comforting father. But she was not small girl, and where her head once rested against his shoulder, now his had found a place on her own. The embrace was tight and aggressive – meant to channel all of his affection and support without draining her with his words.

“Come back safely, daughter.” Orthen released her, his blackened hands grabbing hers only briefly to pull them to his lips and offer a smacking kiss. “Stendarr bless your travels.”

Katia could do nothing more than nod; if not for the ball of emotion lodged in her throat, she might have broken down to weep at his feet. This was not a journey she wanted to take alone, let alone left with her thoughts of the recent weeks. At her father’s side with the forge seemed much more preferable than a solitary trek across Skyrim. As the door closed behind her, the blonde chucked her chin up higher and made for the stables down below – only the sound of her father’s farewell call would follow her for the day.

+++

Solitude had not been reached by nightfall. By dusk, Katia had run across a problem – there was a dragon attacking the small town outside of Morthal. It had been something akin to intuition, though once the creeping feeling ripped up her spine, she had seen the shape of the beast coasting on the horizon. The monstrous roars echoed from the peaks of nearby mountains, forcing the hairs on her body to stand on end. Anticipation and excitement coursed through her at the prospect of conquering the monster. While her spirit was akin to theirs, Katia could hardly wait to absorb the ancient power of the roving sky terror.

The horse would go no further as she urged it up the winding mountain path, every frantic breath and quiver of it’s flank signaling to the lone rider that the beast was afraid. Katia dismounted with a heavy thud, her eyes set upon the crest of the hill where a fire raged high in the dead, dry trees that edged the swamp. Morthal was a town upon the swamp itself, making the cold ground much softer the closer on strayed to the actual town itself. Under any other circumstance, Katia might have sought out her mother’s relatives; at least, those who might still speak to her.

Heavy, excited pants tumbled from her lips as she surveyed the carnage that ensued – from the dragon’s path, there was scorched earth and crumbling human remains. Someone who had thought themselves brave enough to front the beast had only learned the truth of dragons. In the sky, the red dragon screamed down loudly as a volley of bolts was shot up at it. A return blast of fire was sent down upon the few guardsmen courageous enough not to flee. Katia almost pitied them. They knew not what danger they faced, yet were more than willing to die for the land that they loved.

Shouting loudly in a forgotten language, Katia sought to draw the little blood dragon’s attention. “Gol Hah Dov!”

As if battered by an invisible shield, the dragon buffered in the air and turned burning gold eyes to the stalwart Dragonborn. Descending from the air with a heavy thud, the dragon’s slit nostrils flared widely, a curl of smoke building from within. Katia locked eyes with the beast, her own heartbeat hammering in her ears.

“Gol Hah Dov!” Katia’s Thu’um was powerful, ringing out in the clearing despite how little her lips had parted. “ _Gol Hah Dov!_ ”

A terrible screech tore from the dragon in response to Katia’s call. The great red head rose up swiftly, shaking to and fro as if to shake out the sound of a Dovahkiin speaking. As soon as the calm had flooded over the valley, it had fled. The dragon’s tail lashed to the side, sweeping out against two of the Imperial guards who had come to defend their home. Both men were sent flying back, though Katia did not stay to watch where they landed. Diving to the side, the young magus extended both hands before her, the flow of pure destruction magic pounding through her veins.

An arc of blue lightning ignited the dragon, shocking so hard that even Katia’s bones burned with the effort. A spell so powerful would have killed a grown man, but to a dragon it was nothing. To Katia… It was draining. As the dragon roared once more, unleashing a spray of hot flame upon the place she had stood, Katia found herself rolling onto the ground. She had been burned well enough to know that standing still was a poor decision.

The cold chill of water stung almost as hard as her magic had as she found herself rolling into the mire. Frantic shouting toward the town told her that there was likely more of a fallout than she might have expected. Wrenching herself out of the cold muck, Katia gasped for air and stared ahead in horror – in her haste, the spell she had cast had afflicted fleeing townspeople. The crowd that gathered was panicky and anxious, like a flock of chickens watching the foxes circle closer. There was no way out for them should the dragon not fall, and yet the Dragonborn also seemed to cause them harm.

Tearing her eyes from the three fallen bodies, Katia rose up in the middle of the water and clawed her hands up once more with another jolting ball of lightning spinning between them. With all her might, the blast was focused solely on the irate, fatigued blood dragon.

And just as before, the dragon’s maw opened to spill another shrieking blast of fire at her.

But Katia was prepared. Closing her spell with a clenched fist, the utterance of a secret spell reflected back the burn of the dragon’s fire. While the heat was felt, snapping jaws just mere feet from her face, Katia held firm.

The dragon screamed as it was roasted alive with it’s own fire, and Katia echoed that very same scream. The end was clear as a golden mist began to envelope her, a whooshing wind tearing away any other sound other than a dragon soul absorbing into her own. Like divine fire, the flesh of the dragon was consumed within the air, golden ash raining down around her.

Consumed with a jittery power and the rush of a fight, Katia collapsed back into the water, falling on her rear into the muddy bottom below. Up to her chest in the cold sludge of the swamp, Katia gripped her head with both hands and loosed a heavy sob.

+++

The weight of the oversized cloak about her shoulders was a welcome feeling as she sat before the crackling fire. Once the fight with the dragon had ended, the wailing had been absorbed in absolute silence as the town had realized what luck had befallen them.

“Dragonborn,” the whispers had followed her in her daze as two men rushed to come pull her up out of the muck. “Dragonborn!”

But it was not just Morthal that had found luck. In the struggle to praise the Dragonborn, a clamor of excited people too thrilled to see her to yet fault her for the deaths of three others, only one man had stuck out. As tall and thin as she, with a shock of blonde curls stacked atop his head.

Her mother’s brother, Alric.

Alric had been kind enough to welcome her into his home, to take her wet clothing and offer her something of his meek wife’s to wear. While it did not completely cover her, the gown was supplemented with a heavy cloak and a chair before the hearth. Now, the room was absorbed in silence again. No bowl scraping spoons, no hushed whispers from Alric’s two young boys. Absolute silence as all in the household stared at the Dragonborn – their blood relative.

“I am not plague riddled.” Katia snapped with annoyance, the memories of her uncle not at all lining up with what she remembered. This man was jaded and quiet, not spirited and loud. He had changed. “You do not need to sit so far away.”

“Apologies, Dragonborn.” Alric’s little wife spoke with a soft voice to match her soft person. The only hard thing about the woman were her birdlike features, too sharp to be elegant.

“Katia.” The bundled blonde by the fire quipped back, her eyes staring daggers over her shoulder.

Alric interrupted his wife’s reply, a hand coming to rest on her shoulder as he rose from the table to cross the room. Three long strides with the long Imperial legs, and he had come to sit beside her. Alric smiled up at Katia, leaning forward to put his hands near the flame.

“Pay them no mind, Katia.” Alric murmured, doing his best to be reassuring. “They have lived a small life. You are the most excitement they will see in a lifetime.”

Katia cast a hard look down at her uncle. “I am their family just as I am yours.”

“You absorbed a dragon’s soul before their very eyes.” Alric pointed out, a brow raising to her irritation. Behind them, the sound of a stirring household saddened Katia’s heart further. They eagerly pushed into the bedrooms, door cracked just enough to eavesdrop on the juicy tidbits of the ongoing conversation.

The wooden house was small, traditional in every sense of the word, but not tight enough to be uncomfortable. Yet as Katia gazed about, yearning to reach out and brush along the drying herbs that hung over the hearth, she felt out of place. This was not her life. This was never a life she would have. A pit formed in her stomach as she looked back to the long-faced Imperial beside her. “I suppose so.”

“There is no supposing about it, Katia.” Alric chuckled under his breath as he stoked the fire. Bent forward in his chair, Alric’s limbs seemed ungainly and too long. The fire caught his hands as they kneaded together like a physical show of the process to form a thoughtful remark. Alric shook his head, lips lifting to form a subtle smile. “You are much like your mother. Both of you so different from the world around you. Too extraordinary for this land.”

The comment unsettled Katia more than Alric had intended it to. In the wake of a quiet evening spent reminiscing on those who no longer were with them, Katia could not help but feel the weakness in her heart grow. She was extraordinary, though not in the sense that she desired. The life within her had always been destined for something more than the small world that the Nords and Imperials fought over.

+++

The high walls of Solitude had always been comforting. Three long weeks set to the pace of anonymity however, proved troublesome. Katia had been forced to hide herself under the guise of a mask; within the walls of her home city, she was a nameless, faceless solider called on by men with political power. The Dragonborn was nothing more than a useful asset, and far less important than the huddled figures over a war table.

And for once, Katia was glad for it.

The negotiations had ended in a fight, though that was to be expected. There would be no clear plan of attack to the Nord King, and suspicions were high that somehow, some way, information about their strike had been leaked. Katia had been quick to leave the chamber as an incendiary argument broke out on the last day of her stay in Solitude. She was incredibly powerful, and the men who fought for control over the situation knew it; should they garner her affections, or even friendship, they believed Katia to be the key to swaying the tide in their favor. But Katia would have none of it.

Under the slip of dusk as the heightened voices of angry men rose, she had slipped out of the council and hastily retrieved her pack from the hidden nook between two shops before breaking from town proper.

Outside of the tenuous military district, Solitude was quite nice. Even as the sun fell, the streets were flooded with all matter of races. An Argonian lamented from a bench about his sorry life, scaled hands gripping the neck of a dark bottle as if it were his final lifeline on this land. Beside him, an Altmer woman hastily called for attention to her jewelry stand – though no doubt half the items had been stolen or fenced, they were lovely to look upon and she offered a fair price. A singing Khajiit vied for the attentions of his lover, strumming a small instrument that filled the night air with melody and music to every voice that clamored. A pang struck her heart as Katia darted through the crowd, hood casting a dark shade over her masked visage. How deeply she would miss all of this once returning to the bland, small hold to the south.

Perhaps she wouldn’t go home. Not just yet. Perhaps lingering in these lower market districts would grant her a much needed reprieve from the tedious droll of a Nord city like Whiterun. Katia’s gut twisted at the thought; she loved Whiterun. What she didn’t love was the fact she would be forced to occupy the same space as a man who had violated her, and those who wanted her to forgive such a transgression. While musing deep thoughts, Katia had not been watching the alleys in which she sped through. They provided a quick distraction from the searching eyes of the guard, but manner of persons that _did_ skulk in black shadows was not entirely an improvement.

Running headlong into the back of a muttering man dressed in dark leathers, Katia gasped out and dropped her pack as the plate of his shoulder guards cracked against her bent forehead.

“Oi!” The man snarled out as he whipped about. An unremarkable elf with a slant scar across his forehead, but the sigil upon his clothing was one that sent Katia’s chest tightening. The Altmer bore the mark of an infamous gang that stalked the streets of many a hold. “You think you’ll watch where you’re going?”

“Sorry.” Katia cut out, a gloved hand brushing over her chest. This movement immediately drew the Altmer’s attention, and with it, a wide smile bore across his sharp features.

“That’s some nice armor you’ve got, girl.” A crooning tone had been taken as the elf turned about, his hand lazily resting upon the pommel of a curved dagger. “Just where did you get it?”

Katia didn’t answer. The gates of Solitude were less than three houses down but sneaking out unseen and without a criminal on her heels did not seem likely. From behind her mask, Katia’s features were unreadable. Her panic had crested, as she did not carry anything more than a pig poking dagger and her own magic. Casting a spell within the city walls was illegal, and certainly punishable at the discretion of the presiding Jarl. The halfblood Imperial stooped quickly, snagging her pack with one hand as she stepped backwards from her aggressor.

The Altmer was amused by this. “Now, don’t think you’re going to get out of this without just a little trade. _You’re_ the one who so rudely bumped into me.”

“Just let me go.” Katia hedged quietly, her face cast down toward the ground as she continued to backpedal. There were footsteps behind her moving swiftly between the houses. The Altmer was not alone, and he was not keen on letting her go.

“What’s your name, lady?” The grinning elf asked, nonchalantly covering the distance Katia had just put between them. “Let’s talk a little. Let’s see what you’ve got to offer me.”

The initial panic that had flooded her system only worsened. Although she had been trained by the blade, assisted by great warriors as Esbern and Delphine, Katia was not so skilled in hand to hand combat. She relied too heavily on her magic, and without a spell cast or a blade to wield, she would not likely come out on top. “It isn’t worth it. I have nothing you would want.”

“Oh, come now! You don’t know that. I like that armor you’ve got. And I’m willing to bet that within your little bag, you’ve got some septims.” Hungrily eyeing her form, the elf stopped where he had stood, allowing Katia to continue creeping back. But Katia knew she was not freed, and a sharp breath was drawn as the feel of a blade point to her back stopped her escape.

“This is not in your benefit.” Katia warned, though clearly outnumbered and outmatched. The blade in her  back drove harder against the leather, but she remained unflinching. “You should walk away.”

“Oh, really?” The elf laughed, both hands placed arrogantly at his hips. “And just wha-,”

_Thwip. Thwip Thwip._

Three darting arrows cut through the air, piercing into the elf’s chest and throat with such speed and accuracy that they could only have been delivered by the hand of a skilled marksman. Or, in Katia’s rescuer’s case, a skilled marks _woman_.

The man that held a dagger to her back turned with a surprised grunt, only to be met with a blow from the sharp elbow of Aela’s arm. He wasn’t dead like his gurgling friend, but he soon would be if Aela was given another chance. As the Nord woman mercilessly kicked the thief’s side, Katia scampered away and quickly made for the winding alleys that lead to the gate. The shocked appearance of the Altmer’s face was burned into the forefront of her mind; Aela’s cry of rage still ringing in her ears. In the moment, she had heard but white noise over the repetitive twang of the bow. A sack of grain behind a house caught her toe, sending the masked woman hurtling toward the ground. Katia smothered a cry as her knee bashed the ground, but she was not quick enough to get up and keep moving.

A hand reached beneath her elbow, easing her back to her feet. Aela looked concerned more than anything, her deep green eyes roving Katia’s masked face. “Katia. Are you well?”

“I-,” Katia stuttered, her eyes fluttering around the area. All she could see was the arrows landing in soft flesh. “I am.”

“You keep poor company.” Aela commented, reaching to grab Katia’s fallen pack. The huntress was alone and looked vastly out of place with those who resided within the northern hold. Despite the frigid air that coursed through the streets, Aela still wore the leather and chainmail skirt, her face painted with its usual markings. “Why were you with those men?”

“I didn’t mean to.” Katia bit back rudely, more annoyed she had been rescued like a child than she was with Aela in general. Snatching the pack from Aela’s outstretched hand, the halfblood slung it across her back and then dropped both hood and mask. “I was _trying_ to leave.”

With the last snapping comment, Katia tore herself form Aela’s company and began stomping back through the quieter alleys that snaked away from the main drag of Solitude. While she might know where she was going and Aela did not, it did not deter the huntress in the slightest. Katia’s long legs propelled her faster than the Nord could more, and yet Aela remained in stride, if not just lagging behind.

“I did not mean to offend you, Katia!” Aela pleaded as she pushed past a fallen crate. Katia swung to the left, eyeing the gate just beyond the row of houses. “You are making this difficult! Just talk with me. It is the least you could do, given I did save you!”

That was enough to halt Katia in her tracks. The thick white gold rope of hair swung in a crescent as Katia whipped around, her nostrils flaring with aggression as she eyed the smaller, stockier woman. “I did not _ask_ for you to help me.” Katia hissed through her teeth. “I did not cry out for your help, nor did I send word for you to come up to Solitude. Why are you even _in_ Solitude? Don’t you Nords think this place to be enemy territory?”

As Katia huffed and puffed in her direction, a look of surprise spread across Aela’s face. “Kodlak does not allow us to be involved in politics. Solitude is just another city. I came here for you.”

“I do not care what Kodlak wants, Aela!” Katia threw up her hands in exasperation; there was nothing the old wolf could say that would force her to speak with him.

“Yes, but he needs to speak with you, or he will come to find you himself.” The male voice was not surprising, and yet Katia still lurched with a start as Vilkas came around the corner. The dark-haired warrior looked solemn, his chestplate covered in a smear of blood. Katia did not want to ask where it was from, though small comfort reminded her that he likely was cleaning up Aela’s mess. Aela’s gaze drew between Katia and Vilkas slowly as she nodded.

“I do not care. If he wishes to speak with me, he can meet me himself.” A fine idea, and the first they had had.  Katia stood her ground, jutting her chin upward in a show of arrogance. “I will return to Whiterun, but I will not come to your home to speak with him. He can meet me on the road.”

Aela had opened her mouth to protest, painted features crumpling with annoyance, but Vilkas was quick to cut her off. With his hand raised to her, Vilkas nodded. “The crabber’s shanty by the stream. Do you know the one?”

“Outside of Whiterun?” Katia lifted a brow.

“To the north of it. He will be there.”

“Fine. I hope you can get word to him sooner than I am there.”

Vilkas did not smile, but the brightness in his eyes was at least reminiscent of a grim pleasure. The warrior nodded to Katia and backed off a step. “There will be no problem. Safe traveling, Dovahkiin.”

And just as they had appeared, the begrudging Companions returned down the twisting alley and back toward the bustle of the street. Katia stood where she had been cornered, arms hugging across her chest. So, she would meet with Kodlak, the legendary warrior. The leader for the Companions. The old man that every legend seemed to be about in Whiterun… And the very man who kept Farkas protected from her.

Grimly, Katia decided that if she were to meet with him, she would exchange something to redeem her honor. One way or another, Kodlak would answer for the crimes his man had committed.


	4. By Means of Anger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken me so long to update! I lost all the files I had for this and had to piece together what little scribbles I had in a notebook and the bits and bobs written in random files. D: Thanks for your patience, and I promise, more is coming. Your kudos and comments are forever appreciated <3

The plumes of smoke churning in the soft gray sky were more of a relaxing agent than even the peacebloom shoved in her father’s pipe. Katia swayed atop her tired old mare, thighs chafing the rough saddle as the lazy ride toward Whiterun continued. Instead of following the worn patch of road that lead homeward, Katia had begrudgingly followed alongside the cheerful creek toward the deep mudcrab pools that she knew the hut to sit upon. Despite the season, the wintery air blew about this bowl of land, sending a cold blast down through the back of her leathers.

Katia buried her face down in the ruff of cloth that extended beyond her meager chestplate, eyes set upon the crabber’s shanty. Three horses sat outside, though only one old man dared wait alone. His age betrayed him beneath the thick beard and heavy armor, but none alive would dare test him in combat – a seasoned warrior with a gut wrenching secret carried a reputation that many chose not to test. At her slow approach, Kodlak’s dark and unreadable gaze had fastened to her swaying figure. Betwixt his lips, a pipe was clutched and slowly worked at, the thick white smoke obscuring his face as breaths were released.

The air was tight with tension so thick she could’ve run a sword through it. Katia paused atop her steed; hands fastened about the light reins as she stared across the little yard toward Kodlak. The old warrior was wholly unbothered as he rested against an old cutting block, arms crossed across a plate bearing chest.

“So you came.” Kodlak finally spoke, plucking the pipe from his mouth. Even at this short distance, Katia could make out the intricacies in his tattoo. Many Nords who fought chose to adorn themselves with the dark ink, but Kodlak’s was unique. The twisting design on half his face marked him a strong and unflinching warrior.

Katia let the words hang before her as an offering. “So I did.”

“They’re out hunting.” Kodlak answered her unspoken question as her gaze traveled over to the horses. His amusement seemed thin and brittle, as if he too took no pleasure in this altercation. “Decided you’d be more comfortable if it were just you and I.” In the moments she chose not to answer, Kodlak filled the silence. “Know that I do not take pleasure in this, Dragonborn. But I will not let our secret be freed. Not when we are so close to curing it.”

That had caught her attention, but not in the manner Kodlak had perhaps expected. A derisive snort tore through her as she dismounted the mare, leaving the animal to wander off toward the short grass that formed in small patches across the moor. Katia wiped her hands down her front as she stood there, her icy gaze trained on Kodlak. “There is no cure.”

This had come from the stories she knew, but Kodlak lived the reality. An indignation that so clearly manifested on his features. “Aye, so they’ve said… But we’ve found one. Among our ranks there are some that wish they did not have this gift, and against my judgement… We search for one.” Kodlak’s fist curled absently in his lap. “We would enlist your help to find it.”

“Have you lost your head, old man?” Katia’s anger flashed like a bolt of lightning, heating her innards and blazing her tongue. “Do you know what your _man_ did to me?”

“I do.” Kodlak replied, raising the pipe to his lips once more. A dangerous look reflected in his gaze as Katia stepped forward; the promise of retaliation should she strike.

“A great warrior, trained by _your_ hand.” Katia pressed; the words cut through clenched teeth. “You know what this _great warrior_ has done? To be torn to shreds would have been more honorable than a heat struck mutt claiming – “

“Did you fight back?” Kodlak asked, strangely introspective. “Did you strike him down? You are Dragonborn. You command the storms. I have seen what you are capable of. Did you stop him?” 

Katia’s face reddened, her anger now zapping within her gloves. “I should not have had to fight him off of me. He should have -,”

“He? The werewolf? He, so capable of rational thought that he tore through the Jarl’s guard like they were straw dolls?”

Katia’s mouth snapped shut – yet another who heard but did not listen. At her piercing brevity, Kodlak continued with his earlier inquiry. “And as for the others, Katia. Do you think them so deserving of their torment you would deny them? Your purpose is to help those within Skyrim. A quest so noble, Dragonborn.”

The outright audacity of his taunting had prompted the words before she had thought them over. “Fine.” Katia slapped at her thighs as her mouth pulled into a snarling frown. “Fine. I will do what is right for those who deserve it. I will not lead a hunt to Jorrvaskr, nor tell the people what you are. But by my mother’s bones, Kodlak Whitemane, you and the others will suffer for allowing this atrocity to happen.”

“I did not ask that of you, Dragonborn.” Kodlak replied tightly, his hand shifting to grip the hilt of the heavy broadsword he carried.

“And yet it is what you will get.” Katia answered hotly, her stride taking her to stand only a few paces before the burly old warrior. Letting her gaze flick between his outraged stare, Katia’s lips pulled into an angry smirk. “I will return the same kindness to the Companions as they have shown to me.”

With a curt nod, Katia stepped back away from him, her gaze locked against his until she was well out of his range to strike. Only then did her back turn and a sharp whistle chirp forth to call her munching horse out of the field. Katia’s hair tossed in the wind as she mounted the mottled mare, but not one passing look was spared to Kodlak.

“Farkas has suffered more than you understand, Katia.” The grizzled voice called out over the wind. “At our hands as well as his own.”

“Oblivion take him!” Katia yelled back, her heels spurring into the horse’s sides. What did it matter that he had suffered if they were to just wave it off? She had burned. She had ached. She had done so publicly. If Farkas had not… Then they all would.

                The pounding hoofbeats beneath her had drowned out most thought as she crossed over the tundra grasses to Whiterun’s familiar territory. Even as the beast was stabled, the frantic pace she had set to return home hammered in her head. Anger, by any other name, had forced her heart to race. Malicious intent seeped into every motion she made as she forcibly shoved her way through the city streets, uncaring toward any outraged gasps. The afternoon was not long, and before the sun began to set, she needed to find the one person to take away this murderous feeling. Orthen’s rolling laughter had already begun to soften her edge as she pressed onward, crossing over the moat and through the tall gates. Katia’s shoulders dropped their tension as she anticipated a smothering hug from her short father, and a heady sigh passed through her nose.

Rounding the corner to where her father’s smithy sat, that feeling of ease quickly dissipated. Farkas knelt by the fat iron pit, lofting bits of wood into the fire to keep it well lit. Orthen was bent over his table, his hearty chuckle still shaking his frame at something the smiling Companion had cracked off. Unthinking, Katia’s shortsword was drawn as she stalked forward.

“Get out, filthy dog.” She snarled, the blade only mere inches from Farkas’s back. “Your kind is not welcome here.”

“Katia!” Orthen reprimanded, shock flooding his tone. The rattling sound of armor pinged her consciousness as guards flocked to the smithy, their demanding words lost on deaf ears as the world faded away around Farkas. Orthen seemed frantic behind her, attempting to keep his daughter out of the Jarl’s hold.

“Katia.” Farkas answered quietly, his body rigid as he rose to his feet. The blackened paint around his eyes had begun to fade under the heat of the forge; the color streaked his cheeks and offered an insidious appearance. When Katia did not back down, the Companion’s features contorted in an equal rage. “I am trying to make amends. You will let me do nothing else!”

“You deserve nothing.” Katia spit at his feet, her sword unwavering. “I should cut you down.”

Farkas drew his sword at those words, letting it remain lower than her own in a defensive swipe across his body. “You would regret that.”

“I would regret _nothing_.” Katia all but roared, drawing attention from onlookers. “I could tear you and every last one of your Companions apart.”

“It would cast you out of your home.” Farkas threatened, his teeth bared back at her. “All of these people would call you a monster.”

“Better to be called one than to _be_ one.” Katia shot back. Orthen’s hand on her arm drew her to the present; suddenly, the woman appeared aware she had drawn a crowd, and the threatening words of guards. The sword dropped away from Farkas’s body, but she hardly moved to allow him room to escape the wrath. As Farkas pushed out of the enclosed forge, Katia slammed her shoulder against his. “Do not come back to my father’s shop again. I will kill you.”

Heated and thoroughly thin on control, Farkas pulled away from the exchange and disappeared into the crowd – his dark head bobbed among the many before slipping away into the mix of Nordic people. Katia thrust her sword down into the ground and whirled away from the threats of arrest, storming inside to hide her shame from any nosy onlookers.

+++

“You look nice.” Orthen’s hesitation drew another sigh from Katia as they sat at the small, lopsided table over a morning of sad porridge. The willful Dragonborn had disappeared within the rafters of the house, her rage present in the crash of magical tongues that appeared to manifest a small lightning storm above Orthen’s humble lodging. All night, the man had worried on whether or not his daughter would actually ignite the house or not. By morning, however, that worry had been replaced with concern for her wellbeing – she presented in normal thin day clothes, hair well washed and worn long down her back. Pinning back the unsightly curls from her face had been an old hairpin from her mother’s jewelry collection; it depicted a blue mountain flower, near exact to the shade of her eyes. Orthen settled in his chair, the wooden spoon scraping against the bottom of his bowl as if he pretended he enjoyed eating the food she prepared for the both of them. “You have… plans?”

“No, Papa.” Katia sighed again, shoving the bowl ahead of her. This attempt had been one to apologize for making a scene, but it appeared not even she could make amends.

Orthen followed suit and pushed forth the nearly full bowl. A disgruntled smile overtook his features as he looked her over. “You look like your mother.” He commented softly. “Act like her too. Always so angry and ready to fight. Sometimes I think she secretly was a Nord at heart.”

Katia cracked a smile, but it did not reach her lips. “Right.”

The balding man reached forward to pat her hands before she could retract them beneath the table. “Katia… I know you are angry. But perhaps it is time to let it go. Let him make his amends. The Divines will deal with him in due process.  You know this.”

For a moment, Katia thought to argue with her father. The Divines would not help with what she needed. “I will do my best.”

“You should really try, my girl. Living angry will not make things better.”

Grunting a brief reply, Katia pushed away from the table and rose to her full height. In the building made for smaller Nordic people, she had learned to duck to avoid smacking her head on the leaning timber that made up the frame of most rooms. “I will go to town and fetch us something better to eat.”

“If I am not here, I am next door. Letitia asked me for help again. Leaky roof won’t stay fixed.” Orthen piped back, though slightly more interested in the idea of a sweetroll than he was his daughter’s sad cooking.

The streets were no less busy than they had been the night before; perhaps more so, given that most of Whiterun’s business occurred early in the morning when the shops were open for trading as well as shopping. The village busier than this one was Riften – though the morals there were fast and loose. Whiterun had a sense of decency, at the very least. Over the chanting calls for coin and the announcement of “rare” commodities likely stolen or fake, Katia found herself admiring the day for what it was. Orthen’s advice swirled at the forefront of her thoughts; living angrily did nothing for her. At the very least, she could enjoy the sweet mountain air and shade from the Gildergreen tree at the heart of the village.

Browsing the wares provided at a small knife display, Katia’s back stiffened with a dreadful feeling. The roar of a dragon carried over the peaks of a mountain, though with her eyes to the horizon, no distinctive shape could be identified. Katia remained frozen as she stared past Whiterun’s walls, her glacial stare picking apart each and ever moutaintop as if she would be able to see the dragon’s scales shimmering amidst the snow-capped stone. The babble of nearby shoppers returned to normal after the initial anxiety of a dragon threat faded. Still wary, Katia was slow to return to her browsing… Though much to her detriment.

“Katia!” Aela bounded over, the chainmail at her thighs bouncing with every long step. Aela’s painted features and distinct coppery hair made her noticeable in any crowd, but the presence of  a band of Companions made it even worse. Katia groaned and pulled away from the armory stall, her attention routing to Aela.

“What?” The curt reply came as she folded her arms over her chest. “Here to scold me over yesterday?”

“No… But you were foolish to do it.” Aela’s features contorted curiously as she glanced back toward the sulking men that followed. Only Njada would meet Katia’s eyes, though nowhere near friendly in her stare. “I… We found a lead. We are headed out to find it.”

“Good for you.” Katia answered. “I am headed out to find a sweetroll.”

Aela frowned as Katia walked away, but she did not follow. With her voice low enough to not attract suspicion, the Companion continued to press Katia. “Kodlak said that you would not help us. I wish you would come, as this cave… This cave has spells you would like. The Draugr within used to serve a Dragonborn.”

It was a lame attempt to garner her interest, but Katia still paused. With her back to the group still, the blonde shook her head. “No. I have no need for those things.” Yet as she retreated from Aela’s proposition, a new plan had formed in her mind. Given her life as the savior of Skyrim had been solidified, what would it matter that her tendencies were not always good?

A little treat, perhaps, to enact revenge without consideration of her name.

Katia Sableguard, destroyer of Alduin.

One seemed so fitting, but not before taking the only hope for eager people and shredding it like her pride had been. Her self-worth. Her wellbeing. Farkas had taken that… And now she would take his.

Katia Sableguard, destroyer of the Companions.

“Aela?” Katia whirled on her heel. “I will meet you at the outpost before Pelagia Farm.”


End file.
